


Bring Me A Dream

by Anra7777



Series: It's Okay for Demyx to Have Feelings Darn it Verse [11]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Demyx has feelings, Fluff, Gore, Halloween 2019, Horror, M/M, Torture, Violence, Vomiting, dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anra7777/pseuds/Anra7777
Summary: Demyx has a nightmare problem. The solution might be worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, everyone! 
> 
> I'll be uploading all six chapters at once. So if you get to the end of a chapter and there's no next button, please try refreshing or waiting a couple minutes.

Bring Me A Dream

He stood, in a world of red sand, giant keys scattered all around him.

The wind howled, abrasive against his skin because of the dust. 

He lifted his hood to cover his head and held his arms in front of his face, trying to protect himself from the raging wind, but the sand cut deep, and all he felt through his eyelids was pain. 

Buffeted about, he couldn’t keep his arms up, and it wasn’t long before the sand ate at his flesh, exposing the bone underneath, and tearing apart his eyes and nose. Even the blood was quickly whisked away. 

The rest of his body was protected by the leather surrounding him, but that didn’t help with the agony that used to be his face. Feeling faint, he surrendered his body to the wind… and the wind stopped. 

Crashing gracelessly forward, he only just managed to hit the ground with his arms rather than his former face. He groaned involuntarily as one of the giant keys dug into his stomach. It was only at this moment, when instead of groaning he coughed up blood, that he realized that he’d been screaming all along, and that the wind had destroyed his throat too. 

He lay there, in the deep silence, feeling broken, unable to consolidate enough energy to heave himself off the key. Yet somehow the key twisted into his gut more and more as though there were something beneath him exerting pressure. 

With a particularly fierce shove, the key finally pierced through him. The additional pain was so great, that at first he didn’t notice the sensation of something wriggling in the wound. It was only after several minutes, when numerous hands grabbed all over his body and lifted him off the key, that he was able to see that they were maggots. 

His vision had changed, decoupling from his crippled, eyeless body, and seemed to be from the viewpoint of the key that had been inside him… which was being held by a rotting monster, half skeleton, half maggot riddled flesh, which was still mostly encased within its sandy grave. 

Slowly, his vision increased, spreading out from key to key, as though each key just needed time to come online, with the first key, bloodily decorated with his intestines, in the center. In the strange surround vision this created, he could finally see the monsters that were holding him up, all equally as dead as the one that had been below him. 

They were endless. As many as could find a finger hold were holding him up, but the dead stretched as far as his new found key vision could see. The dead were legion, and he was one.

The monsters hadn’t pulled him off the key to be kind. The hands started pulling, some reaching into his exposed guts and pulling out whatever organs they could before stuffing in more maggots taken from their own flesh, others drawing and quartering him with the strength of their rotten limbs alone. 

He was too dazed and in too much agony to struggle. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t lost consciousness yet. Instead, he was forced to watch and feel every second of his own body being torn apart. 

Even once he was a stick figure, the dead weren’t satisfied. Some lifted him up by his hair and brought his face up to eye level, as futile as that was. Slowly, he became aware that they were hissing at him, in gradually heightening volume:

**You killed us. **

Over and over again.

** _You killed us. You killed us. You killed us._ **

The volume grew louder and louder, past the point where his head was ringing with the noise of their cries, past the point where his body shook with the vibrations of the sound waves, until his body exploded, unable to take the decibels.

***

Demyx awoke, instantly vomiting on the pillow beside him. He rose up, trying to avoid anymore of the vomit splashing onto him after the weight of his head had brought some back to splash on his face, even as he continued to heave the contents of his stomach out onto his bed. 

When Zexion had weighed him and checked his teeth last month, as part of his monthly check up, the scientist had stared at him, lips thin with suppressed rage, as he always did. He assumed Demyx was bulimic on purpose, and lectured Demyx for over an hour on the dangers of bulimia, just as he did every month. 

Zexion didn’t know about the dreams. No one did. 

Once he was finished vomiting, he quickly stripped and summoned a Dancer to take the soiled bedding and sleepwear to be cleaned as he trudged to his bathroom. 

Again. 

Demyx swiped at his mouthwash and turned on the tap to take a shower. He tiredly swished, the low burn of frustration and undirected anger making him jab at the shower settings harder than needed. 

Every night he’d have these dreams. They weren’t exactly the same, but they were close enough. He’d lost track of how many times and inventive ways the dead had found to kill him in his sleep.

It might have helped if he just knew _ why _ he was having these dreams. But he didn’t. With no memories of his time before being a part of the Organization, he had no idea who would have a grudge against him. Or maybe it was a guilty sub-conconsious making him pay for something he didn’t remember. 

Spitting out into the sink, he stepped into the shower, and let the warm water wash his worries away. For now.

***

Demyx was dozing on the couch in the Grey Area, when he heard the distinctive surfer voice of Xigbar murmuring along to the newbie Luxord’s British accent and Saïx’s cold tones. He let the voices play out, too tired to do more than listen and admire the way each man sounded. As a voice-con, he was darn lucky that all his fellow members had such nice voices. 

If they caught him here, he’d probably be accused of being lazy again. But he couldn’t help it! How could he explain that he didn’t get enough sleep, and what sleep he did get was terrifying?

So he simply pretended to be a statue and listened, until he started actually understanding bits and pieces of what the men were saying.

He frowned, as the words “Halloweentown” came up, followed by “Santa Claus.” Santa Claus…? The name sparked a vague memory in the back of his head, bringing the image of a white bearded man in a red suit who gave presents to children to the forefront. That part of his brain urged him that if anyone could help him with his nightmare problem, it would be Santa.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes furiously, now paying attention to what the others were saying. 

“Luxord was the one to find the world, he should be the one to explore it.” That was Saïx.

“Oh, come on. He’s too new. At least have him take someone along, like Demyx. Demyx’s good at recon.” Demyx felt his chest warm at the confidence Xiggy placed in him. 

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather not go. I prefer to transform others, not _ be _ the one transformed.” Luxord declined. 

“I’ll go!” Demyx popped his head up from behind the couch. 

“You’re… volunteering for _ work, _ Number IX?!” Saïx questioned, incredulously. “And why are you sitting there anyway? What happened to your mission?” 

“Mission?” Demyx blinked as he tried to remember what Saïx was referring to. 

“Your mission to scout Agrabah…?” Saïx prompted. 

“Oh, right, the mission! Uh…” 

Saïx pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t tell me,” the blunet sighed, irritably. “You forgot.”

Demyx nodded guiltily. “Yeah, about that… I forgot.” He winced as Xigbar gave him a sigh and an eye roll, and Luxord raised an eyebrow in silent mockery.

“I didn’t get enough sleep…” Demyx hunched into himself, giving the usual, though true, excuse, weakly defensive. 

“Demyx, you should sleep around less, get actual sleep _ more_.” Xigbar scolded, uncharacteristically harsh toward Demyx. 

Demyx flinched. When he’d first joined the Organization, he’d tried having sex with practically every member, although he’d never allowed himself to fall asleep in their beds or allowed them to fall asleep in his—for obvious reasons—and he hadn’t fucked anyone in _ nearly a year. _ He’d stopped after...

He didn’t know what expression he was giving, but if Xigbar’s softening expression was any indication, he must be looking as wounded as he felt, over that not so subtle accusation. 

Luxord raised his other eyebrow. 

“Would you be interested—.” He started.

“No,” Demyx quickly cut the Brit off. “I wouldn’t.” 

Now it was Xigbar’s turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Apparently, when Demyx had rejected having sex with him again, he hadn’t gotten the memo that Demyx was rejecting _ everyone. _ Demyx would have thought that Xigbar of all people would have known, as sneaking around and gathering info was his _ job. _

Saïx sighed, clearly not amused with anyone in the room. 

“Number IX, since you have so graciously volunteered, you will explore the world of Halloweentown and its connected worlds. I want an estimation of how many interconnected smaller worlds there are and their general composition. Tomorrow, you _ will _go to Agrabah.”

Demyx hastily nodded. 

“Number X. Make the corridor of darkness for Number IX.”

Before Demyx could let himself have any second thoughts, he plunged through. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloweentown Demyx is inspired by these fan art:  
https://www.google.com/amp/s/victor-me-tea-blog.tumblr.com/post/184036425480/halloween-town-demyx-swamp-boy-with-a-rather/amp
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/jack666rulez/art/HalloweenTown-Demyx-56157435

Bring Me A Dream

Demyx stumbled as he left the portal, tripping over an ill-placed pumpkin. He caught himself against a lamppost, his arm reflecting a strange, bluish hue in the moonlight and lantern light. 

His coat had shrunk and his gloves had disappeared, leaving him in an unzipped, short sleeved, leather hoodie vest, but otherwise shirtless. 

Once he was stable, he retracted his arm and looked blankly at the webbing between his fingers and his smooth, hairless arms. Thank Never Was he wasn’t near a mirror. Normally he loved transformation magic, especially Atlantica transformation magic, but he didn’t think he’d like to see himself right now. 

He looked up and around and found himself just on the edge of town, leaving him at a loss. Why hadn’t they told him _ where _ he was supposed to go to find these world connections before sending him off?! Was he allowed to ask the inhabitants about this?! If _ he _ looked freaky, could he even bear to approach _ them? _

A sudden hand on his shoulder caused him to screech and jump, dislodging the hand. 

“Hey, it’s just me, Dem.” Xigbar’s familiar tone calmed him down before his flight response had properly kicked in. 

Demyx turned around to see Xigbar looking a bit bizarre in some sort of outfit that was half pirate and half vampire. He wore a swashbuckler’s hat that was made of silk, a black cape, and a good deal of ruffles. Except for the fangs sticking out over his lip, he looked otherwise human. 

“We realized as soon as you left that we hadn’t told you where to go, and since Luxord refused to come here himself, I came. I’ll go back as soon as I’ve pointed you in the right direction, according to Luxord.”

“I’ve been gone for only a minute. Is the time differential between the worlds really that extreme?” Demyx felt doubtful. It was rare for a world to be out of time sync with the rest of the Realm of Light that drastically. Usually the time difference could be measured only in seconds. There were exceptions, of course, but planets like Uriel were so rare that they should have warned him if he needed to keep track of time.

“Nah, Luxord used his fancy-shmancy time magic to give me the info before you had the chance to run off anywhere.” Xigbar waved one hand dismissively, clearly either not impressed with the new member, or not wanting Demyx to be. 

“Oh.” Demyx replied, neutrally. “So where am I supposed to go?”

“He said that there’s a forest on the edge of town. Follow the path through the forest and you shouldn’t miss it.” Xigbar gave the town a once over. “Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?” 

“I’ll be fine!” Demyx choked back any signs of panic he might have been experiencing, as he saw a tall skeleton walk past, reminding him a bit too much of his dreams. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reminding himself that this was reality and that no one here wanted to harm him.

“Are you sure?” Xigbar looked at him dubiously. He may not have know about Demyx’s dreams, but he seemed to realize that something was spooking the blond.

“Yup! I’m sure!” Demyx exclaimed with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Woods, you say?” He swung his head around, searching for them. Once he spotted the trees, he mechanically started heading in that direction, hands and feet jerkily coordinated on the same side, and not realizing he was oozing a trail behind him. 

As much as he wished Xigbar could come with him, he couldn’t ask for Santa’s help with a hanger-on. 

Xigbar thoughtfully looked after the retreating Demyx. Once the blond was out of sight around a corner, he finally returned through the portal from which he came. 

***

It really was unmissable. Rather, it was a wonder that the inhabitants of this world seemed unaware of this glade in the first place. Perhaps there was some sort of misdirection magic that prevented anyone who wasn’t searching for the glade from finding it? 

Demyx decided that that was somebody else’s headache to figure out, and studied the doors in front of him. 

There were seven of them, each carved into individual tall, pillar-like trees. The back of his brain, the part that had insisted on coming here in the first place, whispered strange names to him as he looked. Idly, he ran his thumb over one door, thinking the colors weren’t as bright as they should be, and his mind whispered, _ Easter. _

Something caught the corner of his eye as being out of place. He turned his head to look, peering past between the Saint Patrick’s Day and Easter doors, and saw that there were other trees in the glade, less prominently placed, as though abandoned. These trees were disorderly, curled and knobbed, with roots thick upon the ground, and branches like witches’ hands daring trespassers to stay away or else. 

What had caught his eye was the enamel white chipped paint of a door shaped like a molar. Curiosity drew him—gingerly—forward. 

Avoiding the roots and branches as best he could, he was soon standing precariously balanced on a root in front of the door.

Something about seeing the door that way triggered a sadness in him. The door shouldn’t be neglected like that. He reached for the handle, and tried turning it, but found it rusted shut. He rested his hand on the knob, not wanting to bother trying harder, but still wanting to pay some sort of respect to whatever lay beyond. 

Eventually, he brought himself to turn away. He trudged to the tree just beyond the tooth one and gasped, without knowing why. 

The door was shaped like an old carrying pouch. It was a dark purple with dull silver stars and crescent moons gently interspersed. But the inside! 

The bag was open, and in it Demyx could see gleaming… dust? _ Sand. _

Without his conscious direction, his body urgently pulled at the door, trying to get inside. When his mind had caught up to his body, he was already wrenching the door open, with an effort that would see him with sore muscles in the morning. 

He gave a sigh as the door opened with a jerk that toppled him over, hitting his elbow on a root on the way down. Demyx spent a few minutes silently cursing and writhing on the ground as he waited for his elbow to stop hurting quite so badly. 

When he was able to crawl up off the ground, using roots as handholds to lever himself up, he saw that beyond the open door was a deep blackness. It was beyond the darkness of a windowless, unlit room, beyond even the darkness of a portal, sinking into impenetrable. 

He spent a few minutes, trying to see beyond the black, but he couldn’t. He cleared his mind, and before he could let himself think again, he casually walked through. 


	3. Chapter 3

Bring Me A Dream

Demyx was falling. No, he was drifting. No, he was floating. 

Whatever it was, he seemed to be moving in what his inner ear told him was a downward direction, and his body felt weightless and yet inexorably pulled by gravity. 

His fall was endless, yet he felt no fear. There wasn’t even any wind pressure pushing him back up, as though he were falling in a vacuum. But he was breathing perfectly normally, so that couldn’t be right. 

The blackness remained all around him, and eventually he started getting a little bored. He gave a yawn and closed his eyes, slowly falling asleep. 

***

He awoke from his dreamless sleep to find that he was lying underneath a comforter and flannel sheets, in the middle of a plush bed. 

He was lying on his right side, and when he hazily blinked open his eyes, he noticed he’d been transformed again, as the hand lying in front of him was the correct color, but much smaller than he remembered. 

His vision focused, and he blinked quizzically at the boy lying next to him, watching him. The boy was wearing an old fashioned night cap which completely covered his head. His features were average, to the point where in a crowd, Demyx would have had a great deal of trouble pointing him out. And yet he seemed ethereal, translucent, as though the moment Demyx closed his eyes again, the boy would disappear. 

“Hello,” Demyx greeted, his voice coming out much higher pitched than usual.

“Hello, Myde.” The boy answered, his voice echoing with the faintest of chimes. 

“Myde? That’s not—.”

“It is your name. But I can call you Demyx if you prefer.” The boy quietly interrupted. 

Demyx sat up, and from the pulled sheets noticed that the boy was wearing an old fashioned white night shirt. He looked down to see himself dressed in dark blue, long sleeved pajamas with wave patterns made out of a lighter blue and little yellow duckies dancing about. He brushed back a strand of brown hair which strayed into his eyes. 

Looking around, he saw that while he was able to see the bed and everything on it clearly with no visible light source, the darkness surrounded the area as heavily as it had before. 

“Where am I? Who are you?” He questioned curiously. 

The boy sat up now too, sitting seiza style, and looking at Demyx unwaveringly.

“You know who I am, Demyx. I am the Sandman, and this is my realm, the realm of sleep.” 

“The Sandman?” 

“I help children sleep and give them good dreams. I have always been here, in one form or another, but the human beings don’t always remember my existence. It’s why my door isn’t like the others. The _remembered _<strike>_(cherished)_</strike> ones.” 

“Did you… used to give me dreams too?”

“Yes, Myde.” 

“Can you help me?” Into that plea, he put every iota of feeling he wasn’t supposed to have: the longing, the sadness, the fear, the despair. 

“You’re an adult now, Demyx.” And suddenly Demyx realized that he was, in fact, grown-up, and it didn’t even register to him as strange that he was his normal size, and wearing his usual sleep clothes of tee shirt and loose pants. 

“I can give you a good dream. But it will hurt you.” The boy’s voice was calm, but not unkind, with the slightest trace of reluctance. 

“More than the nightmares?” His voice trembled. 

“I don’t know. Only you can decide that.” The reluctance was stronger. 

_ “Please,” _ he begged, brokenly. “I can’t take them anymore.” 

The boy patted his lap.

“Come here, Demyx.” The dirty blond lay his head down on the boy’s lap. “I will give you a Dream, and you will see if you can bear it.” 

As Demyx closed his eyes, he finally noticed that the boy’s eyes were fully black, studded with white stars. 

And then the boy sprinkled sand in Demyx’s eyes. 

And he knew nothing. 


	4. Chapter 4

Bring Me A Dream

The next thing Demyx knew, was the sensation of a hand caressing him. He felt too drowsy to open his eyes yet, and just let the sensations wash over him. The hand started on his face, warm palm tracing the lines of his forehead, fingers brushing down the left side, before running down his neck. The hand swept a comforting line down his naked chest, pausing to run a few circles over where his heart should have been, before continuing its inexorable journey downward. 

At the planes of his stomach, the hand seemed to meet some sort of thin fabric and continued caressing him over it. A subtle twitch of Demyx’s foot and he felt the unmistakable slipperiness of silk. 

Focusing on his surroundings, Demyx guessed that he was lying naked in a bed, with a silken sheet drawn up over his stomach. 

He tried to remember how he’d got here or reason out why he wasn’t feeling any panic over some unknown person touching him, but he couldn’t remember. All he felt was the most relaxed he’d been in a long time. 

The hand moved to cup him, exerting a gentle pressure through the silk sheet, before massaging him to a light arousal. 

Wanting to see who was touching him, Demyx finally opened his eyes, to discover that he was on a light blue bed, which lay atop white clouds which stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. Above the clouds was pure whiteness—not sky, or horizon, or wall, or ceiling. Just white. 

Before him, kneeling on the bed, was a naked man, but Demyx couldn’t have described anything about him. There seemed to be a haze about him, that prevented Demyx from remembering any of his features. Even his body—Demyx couldn’t remember from one second to the next whether it was thin or buff, tall or short, scarred or smooth. But he still felt no worry about this. 

He sat up, and pulled the phantasm into a kiss, hoping that perhaps at least his kissing technique would be familiar and clue him into the man’s identity. The kiss was totally unlike that of anyone he’d kissed before. He kept his eyes open, but found himself staring only into clouds where the man’s eyes should have been. 

He reached out with his right hand to brush the clouds away, but the man caught his hand in his and broke the kiss.

_ Relax. Don’t worry. _ The man spoke directly into his mind. _ This Dream was made for you. _

Oh. That was right. This was all a dream. 

Allowing the last of his niggling sense of strangeness to die, he pulled the dream person back into another kiss, this time letting himself enjoy it. 

Floating on endorphins, he barely noticed when the dream man wrapped his hand in the now loose sheet and used it to stroke Demyx’s cock, the silken fabric sliding deliciously against the sensitive skin. 

Demyx arched into the touch, silently begging for more. The dream man obliged, touching harder and faster. His other hand snaked around, groping Demyx’s butt and lifting him up enough to encourage Demyx to pull his legs up under him, allowing the man to wiggle his hand in toward Demyx’s entrance. 

Demyx paused mid-kiss, steeling himself and making himself still, preemptively consciously fighting his body’s natural involuntary instinct to jerk away. 

But the urge never came, and the man plopped a dream slickened finger in without fuss. Demyx resumed the kiss, moaning, as he enjoyed the sensation of the finger teasing him from the inside. 

Over time two more fingers joined the first, and Demyx was in heaven. He couldn’t remember sex ever feeling this good before, and he practically bounced in eager anticipation of the main act. 

The dream didn’t make him wait long. Encouraging him into a missionary position, the dream man entered Demyx slowly and sweetly, and Demyx writhed in pleasure. 

The man drove into him at the perfect speed and force. Demyx didn’t even ask for him to go faster or harder, he already seemed to know exactly what Demyx needed, giving Demyx the ultimate rush. 

When Demyx came, he could swear he’d never come harder in his life. The dream didn’t come within him, but instead pulled out and petted his hair softly. 

_ It’s time to wake up. _

And with that one sentence, reality crashed down upon Demyx. He remembered (again) that this was all just a dream, and the truth of what had just happened had barely sunk like a pit in the bottom of his stomach when—

He woke up. 


	5. Chapter 5

Bring Me A Dream

Demyx woke softly, the tears falling from his eyes washing away the sand, and causing his eyes to open without obstruction, even if his vision was impaired from the tears.

Without conscious thought, he brought his hands to hide his face, as his chest twisted in mourning. The grief shook him, silent sobs wracking his body.

“Don’t cry, Myde.” The distressed whisper barely registered. 

He was pulled upward and wrapped in comforting arms, arms far longer than the boy’s should have been.

“Don’t cry.” 

He wept long and bitterly, never remembering having felt so hurt in his whole Nobody life. 

The arms continued to cradle him, with the continued occasional imploration, asking him not to cry.

When his sorrow vent itself to a pause, he whispered in a shaky voice:

“Why did you show me that? Show me what I can’t have?”

“I don’t choose the Dream,” came the helpless reply. “You do. For you, this was the best dream.” 

Demyx felt the pain renew. 

“I’d rather have not come here at all!” He cried. 

“I know.” 

“It’s not fair!” Demyx lightly hit his fist against the man’s chest.

“It isn’t.” 

“Why can’t I be like everyone else?” 

“Everyone’s born different.”

“But why am I the only one…! The only one who…!”

“You aren’t. Your condition is rare, yes, but not unique. There are others like you, who feel the pain as you do. Some are women, some are men, some are neither or both. I know because I’ve seen their Dreams too.” 

Demyx clenched his fist into the fabric of the man’s nightshirt and bawled.

“You’re not alone, Demyx. Never think that you’re alone.” The arms tightened still further around him. The man’s voice hesitated, before admitting, “I’m here for you. I’ll… always be here for you.” 

Demyx raised his head to look into the man’s still average, yet translucent features, with the swirling eyes of night and stars, and simply asked, “Why?”

The man paused, pensively searching for the most correct answer, before answering with: “You’re special.”

At the silent question in Demyx’s eyes, the Sandman tucked some of the blond hair behind the Nocturne’s ear and murmured, “Your dreams are too important.” 

Despite the confusion etched on the dirty blond’s face, the man elaborated no further.

Demyx rested his head against the ancient being’s chest, and allowed himself to remember why he hurt.

***

Demyx hadn’t meant to sleep with most of the Organization. He didn’t do it because he was obsessed with sex. 

He did it because he hoped it would help him figure out what was wrong with him: why he couldn’t enjoy sex.

No matter how carefully his partners prepared him, no matter how much lube was used, or how gentle the sex, at best he felt nothing from penetration, but most of the time there was discomfort or pain. He hid the fact that his partners nearly always tore him from them, silently cleaning up traces of blood from their sheets or his, before they had the chance to spot it.

He thought at first, that he just must be having sex wrong, and seduced a different partner. When that didn’t work, he tried another. 

Seducing Lexaeus was a mistake. He’d passed out, and woken in Vexen’s lab. Vexen and Zexion ran tests, the result being that he learned that his body was structured just a little bit differently from most people, and that having pain-free penetrative sex would be next to impossible in his lifetime. 

Zexion had offered to let him top the slate-haired scientist, and he’d tried, but… he just wasn’t a top. Mentally, emotionally. They’d tried with Demyx topping from the bottom, but Demyx had just been too envious and upset by how Zexion was clearly enjoying himself, that the blond had softened and couldn’t continue. 

So, he’d stopped having sex. With anyone. 

It hurt too much to try to let anyone in. 

***

The man’s soft rumble broke his ruminations.

“Myde, you need to make a choice. Do you allow your dreams to continue naturally, and risk the nightmares? Or do you allow me to influence them, but Dream of the happiness you cannot have?” 

Demyx stared into the darkeness for a long time, thinking. The Sandman waited patiently. 

Finally, Demyx looked up into the man’s face.

“Santa wouldn’t be able to help me, would he?” He asked, resignedly and miserably.

“No, he wouldn’t.” The man answered simply and neutrally, with no indication that he might have taken offense at the question.

“If I choose your Dream, does my partner always have to be faceless?” 

“No. Do you have someone in mind?”

Again, Demyx remained silent for a long time. 

When he next spoke, he did so looking away from the man.

“I think… if you were okay with it, I’d prefer it to be you…” 

The silence that followed was poignant with surprise and embarrassment. 

The man recovered quickly, and rather than asking why, responded with, “I’d be honored.”

But Demyx was fine with explaining: “You’re the first person, since I learned about… _ that... _who made me feel okay with myself. I know… it probably doesn’t mean much to you, but it does to me.” 

The man neither confirmed nor denied Demyx’s statement. “...”

“I know that being unable to enjoy sex doesn’t make me less of a person… but sometimes it feels that way. When I hear—overhear—people talking about it on various worlds, it hurts… it makes me think about how… not normal I am.” 

The man said nothing, merely stroking Demyx’s back and letting him talk. 

“It seems like everyone enjoys sex but me. That _ I’m _ the bad one, since I can’t do what everyone else can. But that’s not true!” Demyx plunged his face into his hands as the tears returned. “They just don’t know how they’re hurting me! They don’t mean to do it! But they do!” His voice broke on the last word with the raw despair he was feeling. 

“I’m here. You’re not alone.” The man once again comforted him. 

When Demyx had regained control of himself, he hesitatingly asked: “What about you?”

Intuiting the intent behind the question, the Sandman replied: “I feel no sexual desire of my own. It isn’t part of my function. If…” he paused. “If you wanted for me to enter your Dream directly, I could make use of your own sexual desire to make myself aroused. Theoretically. I’ve never actually tried.” 

“So… instead of having sex with a dream, I’d be having sex with you in a dream?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” Demyx considered this. “But I’d still… feel no pain?”

“Yes.” 

“Would you be fine with that?”

“Yes.”

“...Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Shyly, Demyx kissed him chastely, the Sandman clumsily responding, clearly never having kissed before. Demyx laughed into the kiss, the first time he’d smiled since waking up. 

“Will you be this skilled in the Dream?” He snorted.

For the first time, the Sandman flushed slightly with embarrassment.

“I know how sex is supposed to work. I’ve just never done it.”

“That’s okay.” Demyx beamed at him and took his hand in his. “We can learn about enjoying sex together.”

***

Not long after, the Sandman led Demyx through his realm to the door. They walked in the dark, hand in hand, and Demyx stumbled from time to time, tripping on his own expectations of where the ground should be. But the Sandman never let him fall, and eventually, they reached another lighted area. 

Here there were seven large canopy beds, each decorated in the theme of the holiday they were meant to represent, and beyond them, in the shadows, were abandoned pallets representing the doors, like the Sandman’s, which were mostly forgotten. 

“Time runs much slower in Dreamland than the waking worlds, so you will not yet be missed. If you need to visit a different world, simply lie on the bed of the world you wish to go to.” 

“I _ do _ need to complete my mission and let Saïx know about the other worlds.” Demyx scowled. “But I won’t… I won’t tell him about this one. Or the others like it. Unless I should?” He second-guessed himself. 

“It would be for the best that you didn’t. Our worlds are fragile, and would not be able to stand the comings and goings of the Nobodies.”

Demyx winced. The Sandman tipped his chin up, so that their eyes met.

“You are special. You respect us. They would not.” 

Demyx nodded, somehow understanding. 

“I guess this is goodbye?”

“No.” The man smiled. “This is ‘I’ll see you in your Dreams.’” 

And there was something beautiful in that smile.

It was a dazed Demyx that zigzagged absentmindedly over to the bed decorated with hearts. 

“I’ll see you soon, Sandman.” He waved, as he climbed atop the bed, disappearing from view. 

“Soon you soon, Demyx.” The man put his fingers to his lips and remembered.


	6. Epilogue

Bring Me A Dream

Epilogue 

“What’s your mission today, Xion?”

“Um… Deep Jungle with Demyx. What about you, Roxas?”

“Aw, man, I feel sorry for you. Demyx is so lazy! I’m going to Agrabah with Axel.”

“I heard that!” A sleep muffled voice came from the couch. A dirty blond head popped into view. “Although you’re not wrong. Why work when I can sleep?” 

“You’ll sleep your life away.” Roxas exclaimed in disgust.

“Not a bad way to go.” Demyx gave him a cryptic smile.

“Did we wake you? I’m sorry!” Xion apologized. 

“Nah,” Demyx waved the apology away. “Better to wake up from you guys talking about me, then from Saïx’s TLC.” 

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and woke up properly, he felt the last vestiges of his lover’s embrace disappear from around him. 

At least having a demi-god (or whatever the Sandman actually was) for a lover meant that he didn’t need to worry about his body reacting awkwardly in the real world while he slept. He’d be able to stand up and join the teenagers without a problem. 

“So,” he said as he approached them. “Deep Jungle is it? It’s not as nice as Atlantica, but at least it’s comfortably muggy.” Both Roxas and Xion made faces at him. “Well, let’s go!” He bounced in place as he made a portal. “The sooner we go, the sooner I can come back and sleep.”

“How are you so energetic?” Roxas questioned.

“It’s all the sleep I get!” Demyx exclaimed cheerfully, with an inexplicable twinkle in his eye. 

“Maybe I should try getting more sleep?” Xion murmured, frowning in doubt. 

Demyx patted her on the head. “You may still be young enough: why don’t you try asking the Sandman for a good dream?”

“Who’s the Sandman?” Roxas asked, genuinely curious. 

“He gives good dreams to children.” Demyx smiled.

“We’re not kids!”

“And sometimes adults too.” 

“Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt to ask.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Demyx clapped Roxas on the shoulder.

“Ouch!” Roxas sighed and rubbed his shoulder as the enthusiastic blond dragged Xion through the portal. “Well, see you guys later.”

Demyx waved his hand at him without looking.

***

“I don’t wanna fade… Roxas…….!” For the first time in years, he cried.

***

In the darkness, there was a light. The light consolidated into a circle of glass. On the right was depicted a sleeping figure with dirty blond hair and wearing a long black coat. In his hand was a Keyblade in blues, greens, and turquoises. On the edge of the circle was a small planet, in blue and green. A line bisected it and went around the circle, as though depicting the planet’s orbit. There was a smaller inner circle toward the top, which showed two faces. In one face was a young boy with fluffy hair and a sweet smile. The other was of a man of average looks, wearing a nightcap. Superimposed above it all, the image of a heart shaped moon could be seen. 

On top of the circle, in the center, was a bed. In the bed, there were two figures, one of which lay unmoving. The second figure embraced the first, occasionally brushing his hair or face or humming a lullaby, all the while guarding the figure’s dreams against the darkness and the insanity. 

The second figure was patient and not at all distressed by his companion’s lack of movement. Time meant very little to either of them. 

Soon. It would be soon that his lover would awaken and remember everything: about who he was, about his Kingdom Hearts given mission. How or when it came about was unimportant. It would happen, and the Sandman would be there to support the Master of Master’s dreams. 


End file.
